Killing Spree (27 page)

He picked up his root beer can. “I’m going to sit somewhere else. If you still want a ride to this place in Bremerton, you can come to my car when we’re ready to dock. Otherwise, I’ll just take the next ferry back, and you’re on your own.”

Gillian slumped back in the seat and watched him walk away. She could tell he was still hiding something.

But he’d gotten in the last word. And he was right. Even if his anger was just a smoke screen, he was right about one thing.

Gillian sat there alone, feeling damaged.

“I wish
my
old man would run away,” Joe said, skipping a stone on the rippled blue-gray water of Shilshole Bay. “The son of a bitch isn’t even my real father. At least I can be glad for that. When he isn’t knocking me around or getting shit-faced, he’s always making it a point to remind me that I’m a bastard.”

“God, that sucks,” Ethan said, trying not to throw like a girl as he hurled a pebble into the surf. “My dad never ever hit me.”

Joe squinted at him. “Hey, did you hurt your foot? You’re limping.”

“Oh, it’s just creek water in my sneaker. My sock’s wet, that’s all.”

Joe pointed to a picnic table by the park area. “C’mon, let’s sit over there and take care of that.”

They started walking, and Ethan felt his sock releasing a bit of cold water with every step. “What was I saying?” Joe asked.

“You were saying that you’re a—” Ethan hesitated. “That you’re illegitimate, and your stepfather’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, I don’t know who the hell my real father is. Could have been anybody passing through Sacramento. My mother was a cocktail waitress at a Ramada Inn there. When she married this asshole seven years ago, I refused to take his last name. I stuck with Pagani. It’s her maiden name. Maybe ‘Joe Ramada’ would’ve been better.”

Ethan sat down at the picnic table and pried off his damp sneaker.

“So I’m a bastard,” Joe said. “That’s another secret about me. It’s your turn to tell one, dude. Make it good.”

Ethan peeled off his wet sock and squeezed out some water. Joe picked up his sneaker, shook it, tapped it on the bench, then set it on the table. He took the damp sock out of Ethan’s hand, and spread it out beside the shoe. “So—come on,” he said. “If you can’t think of anything juicy, tell me more about your old man.”

Rubbing his cold, bare foot, Ethan shrugged. “Well, I miss him.”

“So—you really haven’t seen him in two whole friggin’ years? No contact with him at all?”

“Nope, none,” Ethan muttered.

“That sucks big-time, man.” Joe reached out and took hold of Ethan’s bare foot. Then he unzipped his own jacket, and guided Ethan’s foot into the opening.

Ethan was startled, and so incredibly turned on. His foot immediately warmed up from Joe’s body heat. Joe casually rested his hand on Ethan’s leg, and rubbed it a little. Ethan couldn’t help it. He was getting an erection. He squirmed on the bench to cover up what was happening at the front of his jeans. Joe didn’t seem to notice.

“Haven’t you ever tried to get in touch with the guy?” Joe asked.

“You—you mean with my dad? I wouldn’t know how.”

“Don’t you think your old lady might know? I mean, maybe she’s in secret contact with him, and she’s not telling you. Ever think that?”

“I doubt it.” Ethan shook his head. “No, she’d tell me if she knew.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Joe leaned forward a bit. Ethan could feel his heart beating against his toes. “Besides, if you really knew where your old man was, you wouldn’t go blabbing it to me anyway. Am I right or am I right?”

“No, I—I’d tell you,” Ethan replied. “I’d trust you to keep it secret.”

Joe smiled. “Really? Well, I trust you too, Ethan.” He rubbed Ethan’s leg again. “Hey, are you cold? You’re shaking again.”

“No, I’m okay. I…” He trailed off as a young couple approached from the beach area. Ethan was about to pull his foot away, but Joe held it there under the folds of his jacket.

The couple was around college age. The guy had his arm around his girlfriend, and they were staring. The guy scowled at them, but the girl was giggling.

“What the fuck are you two looking at?” Joe growled. He kept his hand on Ethan’s leg.

The girl shut up. The guy quickly shook his head. “Nothing, man. It’s cool.” They hurried toward the park area.

Joe sighed, then turned to Ethan. “Well, at least you knew your old man, and you liked the guy. That puts you one up on me.” He patted Ethan’s knee. “Okay, so it’s your turn to ask me something.”

Ethan wanted to ask what Joe and his friend had done when they’d been “messing around.” Was that his first and only time? Did he think of himself as gay or bisexual? Did he always feel that way? Ethan had a wonderful, weird, scary feeling in the pit of his stomach. Even though he felt so warm inside, he couldn’t stop trembling.

“I can’t think of anything to ask you,” he lied.

Joe took his hand off Ethan’s leg. He poked at the sneaker and sock on the picnic table. “Still damp,” he said, frowning. He glanced over toward a public restroom at the edge of the park. “Hey, maybe there’s a hand-dryer in the can. We could dry these out for you.” He guided Ethan’s foot out from the folds of his jacket. “Lean on me and we’ll go check it out.”

Ethan touched his toes—still warm from the inside of Joe’s jacket. He grabbed his sock and sneaker. As he stood up, Joe took hold of his hand and slung it over his own shoulder. “C’mon, dude,” he said. “I still owe you a secret. Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you. Because we trust each other, right?”

Ethan leaned on Joe and hobbled on one foot along side him. “Right,” he said nervously. “Um, Joe, when you—you messed around with your pal on that overnight at his house, was that the only time you—
experimented
with another guy?”

“Shit, no. I’ve done lots of experimenting—guys and chicks. Ha, guess I sound like this great big he-slut. But not really. Put it this way, I’ve had my fair share of messing around—and so far, it’s been pretty fan-fucking-tastic.”

“So—you think you might be bisexual?” Ethan asked.

“I’m not into labels, dude.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ethan said. “Me neither.”

“That guy I told you about, the friend of mine my freshman year, his name was Chris. He was the first person I ever screwed around with. I was your age. You want details?”

“Oh, well.” Ethan shrugged. “Sure, I mean, if you want to tell me, yeah, I guess.”

Joe nudged him and chuckled. “Yes, you want details, you horny devil. I’ll tell you what I did with Chris. Maybe I’ll even
show
you.”

Ethan let out a nervous little laugh. He wasn’t exactly sure what Joe meant, but he had an idea. The strange tautness in his stomach got tighter.

They paused in front of the restrooms, which were housed in a small brown and beige chalet-style cabin. A pay phone and a drinking fountain were between the men’s and women’s room doors. Inside the men’s room, it smelled like seawater, dead fish, and urine. All the fixtures were dull stainless steel—including the blur-reflecting square that passed for a mirror over the single sink. There was a hand-dryer on the wall. Joe hit the button, and it let out a roar. “It’s working, dude,” he said, waving his hand under it. “Hotter than a hump in the backseat of my car. Go to town, sport. I’ll wait outside.”

Leaning against the sink, Ethan kept his bare foot a few inches from the dirty floor. He watched Joe saunter out the door. His heart was racing. Did Joe really intend to
show
him how he’d had sex with his freshman buddy, Chris? And what did that mean exactly?

The hand-dryer ran out of air. Ethan hit the button, and it started up again. He waved his damp sock under the heat. On the other side of the dryer was a fogged window with crisscrossed thin wires running through it. In the bottom corner of the window, part of the glass had been broken, leaving a tiny hole.

Ethan peeked out the hole at the parking lot behind the lavatories. There weren’t many cars, because of the time of year. So the black vintage Mustang was very conspicuous.

Ethan couldn’t see if anyone was inside the car. It didn’t make sense. Joe had parked his Subaru at least a mile back—off Seaview Avenue. How in the world had the Mustang managed to follow them along railroad tracks and through the woods?

His hand started burning. Ethan dropped the sock just as the dryer stopped. He retrieved the sock, slipped it over his foot, and went back to the little opening in the window. He saw Joe stroll over toward the Mustang.

“Oh, my God,” Ethan whispered. “No, no, no…”

He watched Joe step up to the driver’s window. He leaned one arm on the Mustang’s roof and bent forward to talk to the driver. He shook his head, and then glanced at his wristwatch.

Ethan grabbed his sneaker from the edge of the sink, then slipped it on. It was still cold and damp, but that didn’t matter. He quickly laced up his shoe. He was shaking again, and the tightness in his stomach was even worse than before. But this time, it had nothing to do with sexual tension. He was terrified. Moving to the window again, he checked on Joe, who was still conferring with his buddy in the Mustang. “Son of a bitch,” Ethan muttered, tears stinging his eyes.

The bathroom door and pay phone were on the other side of the lavatory compound from the parking lot. Ethan checked his pockets for change, and found a couple of quarters. He peeked out the restroom doorway, then hurried to the pay phone. Having been without a car for two years, he knew the number for the taxi service by heart. He slipped the quarters into the slot, and dialed. It rang three times. “Yellow Cab,” the operator finally answered. “Your phone number please, area code first.”

“I’m calling from a pay phone,” Ethan whispered. “Could you please send a cab to Golden Gardens Park?”

“You’ll have to speak up,” the operator said. “I can’t hear you.”

But Ethan couldn’t talk. He froze.

Joe came around from the other side of the cabin. “Who are you calling?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Ethan shrugged. “A cab. I—I suddenly realized how late it is. I need to get back to the high school. I’ll catch hell if I’m not on that bus. They’re doing a head count. I thought I’d take a cab—and—and drop you off at your car on the way, of course.”

He still had the phone to his ear, and he could hear the taxi dispatcher asking him to speak up again.

Joe smiled. “There’s plenty of time, dude. The game’s probably in the third quarter.” He gently pried the receiver out of Ethan’s hand and hung it up. “Besides, you can’t cut out now. We’re still telling secrets.”

At the Bremerton ferry terminal, Gillian waved down a taxi. Before climbing into the backseat, she glanced over her shoulder at the cars lining up for the next outbound ferry. She noticed Jason’s rented white Taurus joining them. She felt a pang of regret. What if she was wrong about him—and he was just a nice guy?

She had thought about seeking him out on the ferry again, and apologizing. But she’d remained seated alone at the table for the rest of the boat ride. She had no idea where Jason had gone to. This glimpse of his car in the distance was the closest she’d come to seeing him in the last hour.

Gillian gave the taxi driver Chase’s address on Overlook Drive. She’d phoned Chase from the ferry to say she was on her way. Chase said he’d been to the local Kinko’s to make copies of his outline and the first eighteen chapters of his erotic thriller. Gillian couldn’t help wondering if she was wasting her time and his.

Still, maybe Chase could give her more information about that prowler and those strange phone calls he was getting. It was a good thing he was headed out of town tonight. Maybe it would get him out of harm’s way.

There was also the possibility that he’d made it all up, and this was a trap.

The cab ride took less than ten minutes—all uphill—before they turned onto Overlook Drive. They came to a curve in the road and a little lookout point with two park benches and a tourist’s telescope. The spot had an expansive view of Port Orchard and Bainbridge Island. As they drove on, the houses they passed were set back from the road, old-money estates and some new-money monstrosities on big, wooded lots. Gillian wondered how Chase Scott could afford to live in this prime real-estate area. She’d been reading the numbers along the way, and knew his address was coming up.

“I need to catch the three-thirty ferry back to Seattle,” Gillian told the driver. “Could you come back for me here in about a half hour?”

She saw him check his wristwatch. “Pickup at two-forty-five? I can do that.” He reached for something by the gear shift, then glanced back at Gillian and handed her a business card. “Just call that number in case you need to cancel.”

“Thanks,” Gillian said. “This might sound odd, but if a man calls and cancels for me, then something’s wrong. If that happens, send the police here, okay?”

The driver’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror. “You want I should stick around?” he asked.

Gillian hesitated. If he left his meter running, it would cost her at least another forty dollars. But she didn’t quite know what she was walking into with Chase.